


Quiet

by masswisteria



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masswisteria/pseuds/masswisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU from Last of the Time Lords.  UNIT hold the Master prisoner, but the Doctor remembers the last time they tried that...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet

The Doctor leaned forward, elbows and forearms the steel table, hands spread open as if imploring the UNIT functionary he had been negotiating - no, arguing - with for the past hour and forty-seven minutes to finally start listening to him. “Try to understand,” he began again, “I am the only one capable of controlling him. He is my responsibility.”

The Major returned to his now all-too-familiar condescending tone. “With all due respect…Doctor…” - they always seemed to think the he wouldn’t notice the mocking tone when they used his title - “UNIT is quite capable of handling the Master.”

The Doctor chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, I have heard that before. You can handle the Master, can you? What is your plan? Send him to Fortress Island?” The Major frowned and stared back at the Doctor. He obviously had no idea what the Doctor was talking about. “Of course. You haven’t even read your own files on him. No, that would actually make sense!” The Doctor let his emotions carry him now, at least on the surface. This was just so…typical! He continued berating the Major, his voice growing louder with every word. “You are so sure that you can control the Master and you haven’t even done the simplest, most basic homework! Honestly, does no one on this planet have any sense of history?”

The Major’s face had darkened severely. “Now look here-!”

“OK, that’s enough.” Jack moved away from the corner he had been leaning against to put a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder, trying to maintain some semblance of order in this exercise in futility. His face bore a look of concern directed squarely at the Doctor. He was right, of course. Berating this man would get them nowhere, however much he might deserve it. And the Doctor was well aware of that.

Brushing off Jack’s hand and expression alike, the Doctor pushed back from the table and rose up out of his chair to pace across the small room. He matched his breathing and stride to the low thrum of the Valiant’s engines, willed his heartbeats down to the same rhythm. The picture of a man trying to restore calm and order to his thoughts. Pace, breath, hearts. Slowly he tuned them all to match the ever present beat of the ship. From the start, the Doctor knew that he was not going to be able to pry the Master away from UNIT. At least, not with this man in charge. In times of old, perhaps. Old familiar faces bubbled up, memories from long ago. The Doctor pushed them aside; he could ill afford the distraction at the moment. Still, he might yet achieve some objective. Sighing, he prepared to give up the fight. For the moment.

“Alright, fine.” The Doctor said, raising the white flag. “You think you can contain him, I’m not going to be able to convince you otherwise. At least…” He might still be able to avert catastrophe. “…at least read the UNIT files on him. Talk to Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. Phone up John Hart from the Royal Navy. No doubt long since retired, the both of them, but please, speak with them. Listen and learn from them.” He stared hard into the Major’s eyes, trying to gauge whether or not he would accept the Doctor’s advice.

The Major, still frowning, nodded in acknowledgement of the request. “Yes, well, we will take that under advisement. In the meantime, the Master will remain in UNIT custody.”

“Yes, of course,” the Doctor replied, the picture of acquiescence, and turned for the door. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jack frown, but ignored it. The Major’s expression had brightened, which was the important bit. He had fended off the Doctor. No doubt he felt quite proud of himself at the moment.

One hand on the latch, the Doctor paused and half turned. “Now, I would like to examine him, from time to time. At least so long as still around here.”

The Major looked up from the report he had already begun filling out. “What? Ah, that might be possible…provided we received detailed reports on his condition.” The Major almost managed to hide his growing smile.

“Oh, yes, detailed reports. Very detailed,” the Doctor agreed. With that, he opened the door and stepped out into one of the many pipe-filled corridors of the Valiant. Reports on Time Lord physiology? The Major no doubt thought the Doctor had just handed him a promotion on a silver platter. Well, this man’s career did not concern him. The Doctor would have access to the Master, and that was what mattered. He could work with that.

He turned down the corridor began making his way back to the TARDIS. He had accomplished his goal for that meeting, and with simple applied psychology, at that. Start off demanding something unreasonable, something far greater than your real goal, and when you get thoroughly rejected, fall back to what you really want. It was one of those little psychological tricks that seemed to apply universally to all sentient lifeforms, Time Lords included. So he had gotten what he wanted, and no telepathic tricks required. Which was good, definitely. The idea of even his typical low-level persuasion made the Doctor uneasy, in light of the Master’s Archangel scheme.

So he should be happy. Or at least, content, perhaps? Instead, he felt…unease. The truth of the matter was his emotional outburst in there hadn’t been an act. He really was on edge. He could feel a part of his mind - a part he buried years ago - slowly working its way out of its grave. Knowing what it was didn’t help; in some ways it made it worse. It made him wonder how the Master, in his current mental state, was coping with this.

It had taken years, but the Doctor had come to…accept…the quiet that came with the end of the Time War. Though quiet was too small a word to describe it. Years to accept it, and now there was one single voice piercing the infinite silence within his head. One sound reawakening the memory of the uncountable others, reviving the need for that void to be filled by a cacophony of minds. It pulled at him, tore at his very soul. He needed that single voice, that presence, more than anything.

He fought against the tide of emotion, against the flood of memory - recent and distant - tried to focus on the here and now. The Valiant. The TARDIS. He fumbled at the door, his vision suddenly blurred. Finally he managed to get the key in the lock, or she took pity on him. Either way, the door opened. He entered and shut the door behind him. He was losing the fight. Alone for so long, and now there was someone. And it was him, of course it would be him. The Doctor sank to the floor and wept.


End file.
